


we made a language for us two

by smutpeddler



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, bubble baths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 03:03:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13157889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutpeddler/pseuds/smutpeddler
Summary: Friends don't lie. But sometimes best friends have to omit just a bit.





	we made a language for us two

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having a hard time with this fic and getting it down. it is very out of order. i know the tenses change but the more i read the harder i know i'll be on myself. the fic finally got started and inspired by a drawing risaphia did for me over on tumblr.
> 
> Tumblr; wherewecangazeintothestars.tumblr.com

 

Bubble baths were Lalaina's favorite thing in the world. A place of pure solitude. Claw footed bath tub filled with steaming water and rose scented bubbles. 50's love songs croon from the radio, candles casting flickering light across the tiles. No book, just laying in the water, bubbles up to her neck, hair pilled on the top of her head, eyes closed just lost in nothing. No thoughts, no considerations, just deep breathing and the feel of the water on her skin. No brothers and sisters or overworked parents. School doesn't cross her mind, neither do friends, even _best friends_. Nothing but being unforgettable and the reason the moon's light stretches. Bubble baths were the last thing in the world that were only Lalaina's.

 

This night though, her mother knocks on the door. No one ever knocks on the door, not since the great fight of her 7th grade year. She sighs, knowing that she'll knock again and again until she's able to convey her message. With a roll of her eyes and heavy sigh she gave a loud grunt of affirmation. Her mother cracks the door, hair still perfect, dress still perfect, and even with a worried face make up pristine.

 

“Steven's here,” her voice soft and firm, trying to determine if this had been her daughters doing or that of her reckless friend. By the way her eldest daughter pouted and threw her head back it was clear that her mother had been right to suspect the boy instead, “He's in the parlor.”

 

“I'm in the bath, mother,” rolling her head, each staring the other down with matching green eyes, “Can he just stand outside the door.”

 

“Lainey...” there's a warning in her voice, the kind that still didn't believe that in any world the two could _just_ be best friends.

 

“Eavesdrop, I don't care. I am not getting out of this bath,” the finality in her voice is more like her father's and it's effect is the same.

 

She gives in. Not happily but with passive-aggressive defeat. She still gives in. Lalaina suspects it's more to avoid an argument. There's silence and then the sound of her mothers heels on hardwood and Steve's heavy steps. Explaining the rules.

 

“Mrs. Horn, I've been coming over here for a while,” he laughs, charming her mother in the moment, as always, “The rules haven't changed in that entire time.”

 

Except he hasn't come over during _her_ time and it was clear he hadn't expected it. Her mother warning him to stand right where he was standing. She would most certainly check. But she wouldn't, not once her father figured out what was going. Mr. Horn having always thought of Steve as an upstanding young man, that probably came more from being friends with his father than the friendship between their two children.

 

“It's bath day,” she calls to the crack in the door, redoing the bun on the top of her head, “I've been thinking about this all day. Why don't you want me to be happy?” bubbles swiping up through the thick locks and around the edges of the bun.

 

“Is there something wrong with me?” she can hear him sigh, the thud as he leans against the door frame, “I tried this time, Lane, I really tried...” her turns, eyes peaking through the crack in the door, and just so sad, “She said like. _Like_ we're in love.”

 

She nods, listens hard and jerks her head, “Get in here while Dad's got her distracted.”

 

They hadn't done this in years. Not since 3rd grade but they slid into it easily. She pulls the shower curtain closed enough and puts her arms on the tubs edge, chin on her hands. He sits on the floor, back against the wall, legs in front of him, looking at his hands like they somehow held the answer. Silent, letting him fumble with his fingers until he was ready to look up at her. It's the saddest she's ever seen him, he looks completely broken. Tomorrow he'll go out there, be angry, hide behind it. But Steve has never been able to hide from her, it's one of the only reasons their friendship works. _Friends don't lie._

 

“She doesn't love me, Lane,” he finally speaks, voice barely above a whisper and faltering. If she didn't know him so well she might've thought he was about to cry, “I really tried,” but there were always surprises.

 

She looks at his glassy eyes and sits up, just slightly, using one arm to wave him over, “I know. But Steve it's,” she sighs, running a hand through his hair once he's scooted himself up to the bath tub, “It's high school.”

 

“But you and Jason..” sniffing hard as if it might make the building tears disappear, it doesn't, they both knew it wouldn't.

 

She shakes her head, “Doesn't love me. I don't love him,” she smiles, rubbing the line of his jaw with her thumb like she used to do, “We're just wasting time,” every time he had a nightmare at a sleep over, she'd do just this. The older sister instinct kicking in, “I don't have enough room. And he just doesn't.”

 

“I wish I didn't,” his chin on the porcelain edge of the tub, “I wish it didn't. I wish I didn't love her. I feel so fucking stupid.”

 

“Love makes us stupid,” sliding into the water so she could hold his gaze, “It's okay to hurt. It's okay to be angry. But I know you, Steve. _I_ know you. And you'll move on.”

 

“And if I don't? If it never gets better?” he asks, he truly believes it. That this is the end of love for him. She couldn't blame him, his first big heart break.

 

She laughs, tapping the tip of his nose with her finger, “Then I suppose my future husband will have to get used to you living in our basement.”

 

His smile is watery, his laugh choked, but it's a laugh and a smile. She'll take it. She runs a hand through his hair and orders him back downstairs. She'll hurry to get dressed and meet him down there. They'll go do something. Whether it's just aimlessly drive around or go to a movie, she's not sure. Just that her job right now is to be there for him. He's her best friend, it's what they do. And just like every other part of her life, Steve Harrington has managed to worm his way in and destroy the last bit of the world he wasn't supposed to live in. The one place where her mind didn't wander to what they were, what they could be, what they never would be.

 

With another heavy sigh, something that at this point she should consider a trademark, she yanks the plug and stands from the soapy water. That's all it is, lowliness in soapy water with a dying radio. It's not hidden anymore. It's not special. Just one more place where she had to remind herself that he would never and she would never have the courage to change that.

 

“I hate bubble baths,” she grumbled to herself.

 


End file.
